Those Left Behind
by Arastas
Summary: “She will be missed and loved forever,” he murmurs softly, reading the line from her headstone. Death/funeral scenes of major characters. Character death, obviously.
1. Bella

The stone is white and simple, just her name and a small inscription. It's perfectly ordinary in the grass; nothing seems unusual, not even the seven tearless, somber faces surrounding it.

Bella never did like a fuss.

Edward is humming again, I can tell. He's always humming her lullaby these days, too quiet to hear, but we all know. His pain is so apparent.

I kneel down and place a single ruffled tulip on her grave with trembling fingers. Jasper gives me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, but my dry sobs escape all the same.

And then Edward breaks down, as he rarely does. "She said not to follow her," he whispers brokenly, his head in his hands. "But it's so hard. I need her. I can't breathe. Not without her here. It's like… Like I'm drowning. She's the only thing that could ever save me." He looks at all of us with pained eyes, and I glance down, feeling that I am intruding on the privacy of their relationship. "This isn't like the last time," he adds. "That made sense; I had chosen my path. But this… doesn't. It doesn't make sense. _Why her?_"

He's on his knees beside her grave now, sobbing and humming into the moist green earth. It's raining, as usual. Bella wanted to be buried in Forks, not Phoenix. She said that Forks was where she finally found home.

"Oh, Bella," Edward whispers, at my thought. "You _are_ my home."

Rosalie leans down, her breathing strained and her eyes wide, holding back tears that will never come. She straightens the flower I abandoned and inhales shakily, her lips beginning to quiver.

Esme is cradled in Carlisle's arms, and they're crying softly together. "My daughter, my daughter," Esme whispers over and over again.

Emmett is still in shock. His eyes are closed lightly, and her name is on his lips, but he can't bring himself to say it. To speak it would be to acknowledge it, to accept this impossibility.

But it's a reality.

"_She will be missed and loved forever_," Jasper murmurs softly, reading the line from her headstone.

As one, we turn and walk, Edward included. But the tulip dances in the wind, and with it float the last strains of a mournful lullaby.

* * *

**Well, there's the first chapter. Bella, obviously. What do you think? I got the idea at two in the morning; I couldn't sleep and was listening to Bella's lullaby on repeat. Well, and I was depressed and hormonal, but that's beside the point. Jasper and Rose are already written; Emmett is in progress. So those three should be up soon. I'd love to hear your opinion.**

**I own nothing, sadly. Dx **


	2. Jasper

There's smoke and bodies everywhere, blinding me, obscuring my vision. Clouds of purple rise from the ground, choking me. I'm running and screaming, shrieking the names of my family.

All but one.

A tousled bronze head whips past me, followed by a blur of auburn waves and speed. Two of my muscles unclench. Edward and Bella are safe.

I look down and try not to scream at the pale leg twitching and writhing in the grass. Esme grabs it and tosses it on the fire. A few of my fingers stop digging into my skin at the sight of her.

Through the haze of smoke and fear, I can see two blond figures fighting back to back with practiced precision. I inhale sharply, but it's Carlisle and Rosalie. I relax my left wrist, but I'm not happy yet.

As usual, Emmett is the easiest to spot. He's not grinning for once, but looking grimly determined, barreling through people ad knocking screaming forms straight into the flames.

I'm still hunting for the one I most want to see. Every muscle tightens again; my mind races in terror and disbelief.

_No, no, no. Not happening, impossible. It can't be, not really._

But it is. I let out a mournful wail and sink to my knees as my entire existence goes up in purple smoke.

* * *

**I realize I forgot to mention that these are all in Alice's POV. But, yeah, they are. I know it's extremely short; most of them probably will be. So, anyway, there you have it: Jasper's death, as written by me. Next is Rosalie; hers is written, but I'm too lazy to type it. I'm also extremely sick, but expect Rose's up by around Tuesday, probably. Hope you're enjoying it. Reviews are loved! :***

-sigh- Alas, I still do not own Twilight. (If I did, of course, the series would have ended with James coming back from the dead and proclaiming his love for Bella, then kidnapping her, and her falling madly in love with him, then him biting her, ditching her [and Edward wouldn't want her at this point, now that she'd been tainted and bitten by James], and realizing he's in love with ME instead. -swoons-)  



	3. Rosalie

_Sister, daughter, wife, and friend_.

The writing is beautiful, but solid. Just like her.

Maybe she has her happy ending now. I can't be sure, but something makes me doubt it. This can't be what she really wanted. Look at us, I want to scream. Look at him.

He's lost. Dejected can't even describe it. The light in his eyes, the one that's always been there, is gone. His face is empty, and he hasn't hunted in weeks. The deep shadows under his eyes aren't just of thirst; they're of grief and desperation.

She left him. She abandoned him, left him to fend for himself, like she promised she never would. He's all alone, despite being surrounded by his family.

Seven faces, drawn with pain. Fourteen eyes, haunted and hollow. Seventy fingers, trembling with misery.

We're seven empty shells, gathered around my sister's grave.

Bella holds a single rose in her fingers, suitably. Esme twirls a calla lily anxiously in hers. As one, they lay them against the white stone, deep red and palest pink. The crimson petals are beautiful, in a sick sort of way. Like blood on snow.

My mother and sister pull back, bodies wracked with silent sobs. They retreat to their respective husbands' embraces, and I lean into Jasper, shaking. Emmett's arms are empty; he has no one to hold anymore.

"Goodbye, Rosie," he whispers in a broken voice, and we all know that it's time to leave.

Half bitterly, half sincerely, I glance back and think, _I hope you're happy_.

* * *

**I'm home sick, and absolutely miserable. On the bright side, it gave me some time to type this up. Not my best work, but I'd like to know what you think.**

***yawn* I own nothing.  
**


	4. Esme

She's just not the kind of person who can be _gone_. It's truly impossible that I'm standing here, watching all that's left of her float away on the wind, clutching a single caramel curl in my hand.

No. No. This isn't all right. Such an integral yet underappreciated member of our family _can't_ leave. I love her too much. This isn't allowed; it's not happening!

Everyone is in shock, and we're all grieving in our own ways. I'm frozen in place, of course, staring unblinkingly at the fire, that one tendril of hair kept in my tightly clenched fist.

Jasper inhales deeply next to me, and I can hear how shaky even that one carefully controlled breath is. She was the one who really brought him stability, gave him the family he needed. I like to think I helped, but even what we have isn't that strange yet beautifully complex relationship that they shared.

My sisters have their arms around each other, shaking with silent sobs, and my hysterical niece cries in between them. They've both just lost their biggest role model, I realize. Esme found in Rosalie the child she longed for, and both Rosie and Bella found it in Renesmee. Poor Bella lost both her mothers in such a short space of time, and she's holding her own daughter so tightly I don't think even Emmett will be able to pry them apart.

I'm not sure what to make of the latter at the moment. He's looking grim, as are all of us, but he's staring straight down at the charred grass, his eyes a tiny bit wider than normal, his lips parted slightly, his breathing shallow and strained. Lost and confused, just like me.

As always, Edward is unfathomable, but right now particularly so. Though his arms are loosely around his wife and daughter, his gaze is unfocused and he's staring somewhere off into the distance. I don't even bother trying to figure out what's going on in his head, but I am idly curious, if only to have something to distract me from the awful ache building in my chest. Her killers are dead-some justice, however small-and we're the only ones around for miles; he's not listening to thoughts. Maybe he's hearing his own for a moment, grieving inwardly. He and Esme shared a special bond, I'm just beginning to realize. I'm afraid to even think about what he's going through right now; my own pain already hurts far too much.

It's impossible. Not real. Not happening.

That seems to be Carlisle's feeling. He's the only one standing totally still, not even breathing. One hand is outstretched, reaching into the fading purple smoke as though to capture her essence, to grab her tightly and pull her back. He wants her to come home to him, and to stay. Her leaving has made him collapse. As much as I hate to admit it, he's completely fallen apart. There's a terrible anger in his dark eyes, and I'm afraid of him. It's that anger that drove him to murder he ones who took her from us, from him. It hasn't faded yet, but underneath it is something that scares me even more: Vulnerability. There's loss and horror behind the awful rage in his face, and an astonishing lack of control. He's our leader, the one who always held us together, but now I'm starting to think that maybe that was more her job than his.

After all, she loved each of us like only a mother can.

* * *

**Sorry it took me so long to update. My laptop is dead; I'm using my dad's whenever I can. I've also been having trouble writing these lately; my mind is on a lot of other stuff, and I've had all sorts of random oneshots buzzing around in my head, but no death/funeral scenes. Sorry.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You have no idea how happy it makes me. This is my most popular story, I think, and I love hearing your feedback.**

**So, anyway, this was Esme, as I'm sure you've guessed. It was easier to write than I expected once I got started; I just needed to listen to Bella's Lullaby a couple times and turn off all the lights. (I read and write enough in the dark that I can now see perfectly in it; besides, there was the glow of my neighbor's Christmas lights out my window to see by. I leave all the windows open and turn off the lights and write on my bedroom floor. Yes, I'm weird, and yes, it's cold, but it helps me.)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... Except for a pair of wicked awesome BLUE TIGHTS. Well, actually, they're my sister's, but she lets me borrow them because she raided my closet to go to Hawaii. Uh-huh. Her camp friend is taking her to HAWAII. She's on a plane right now. I'm so jealous.**

**Anyway, ignore my rambling author's note, which is probably longer than the actual story part by now.**

**Oh, and happy holidays! I woke up yesterday and saw that my calendar said it was Christmas, and I was like, "Whoa, already?" I'm Jewish, and totally don't keep up with dates and the like. Yesterday WAS Christmas, right?  
**


	5. Carlisle

It's raining in England. What a surprise. It's not so much a downpour right now as a steady drizzle, tracing slow tears down our grim faces.

"What am I doing here?" comes the choked whisper from Bella. "Why am I even alive? It's my fault he's dead. I should be."

There's a sudden hiss from behind her, and I turn to see that Rosalie has arrived, her black clothes soaking, her hair drenched and disheveled, her usual calm mask gone. Her eyes are wild with fury.

Grief does strange things to people.

"You're right," Rose snarls at Bella, and the six of us step backward as one, shocked by the hostility in her tone. "You _should_ be dead."

Before Edward can react, Emmett moves toward his wife, hollow-eyed. "Rosie," he says bleakly. "Don't start." There's nothing in his tone, no sadness, no anger. Just pure loss.

She collapses on the wet grass, wailing loudly. I've never seen her lose control so completely. Then Bella shocks us all by kneeling gently next to her, and soon the two of them are locked in a fierce embrace, sobbing and shaking.

Grief transforms people.

"Jasper?" I whisper tentatively, needing to know how he's holding up. He's curled up on the ground a little ways away from us, his head in his hands. We're all too shaken to even bother attempting to limit our emotions.

He looks up when I place a gentle hand on his shoulder, eyes dark and full of pain. "Alice... I can't."

Another piece of my heart rips away, but I understand. What else can I do? "Go," I whisper to him.

He nods gratefully and disappears into the fog. Part of me goes with him.

Grief hurts.

Without a word, I walk to my distraught mother and clasp her hand tightly. She trembles all over, but puts an arm around me as the rain gives us tears for all we have lost.

* * *

**Not much to say about this one. It's Carlisle, in case you didn't catch that. Come up with your own reasons for death, people. I'm not that creative. Well, actually, that's a lie. I do have ideas for most of them, but I'm too lazy to list them all. Maybe at the end. Sorry about the long wait from Rose to Esme; my laptop is still broken and I don't get on my dad's a lot. I also apologize about the shortness of this one, and sorry if the line breaks are screwy. Word is acting up.**

**Disclaimer: My friend got a large stand-up poster of James for Christmas (I haven't seen it yet; she says it smells funny so it's airing out in the garage), but I definitely don't own the rights to Twilight.  
**


	6. Edward

**MY LAPTOP IS FIXED! WOO!  
So, yeah. Good news. :D  
****Disclaimer: I own nothing, et cetera, et cetera.  


* * *

**"Please don't do this."

He looks up at her through dark, hollow eyes, and she flinches slightly but holds his gaze.

"You don't mean that," he rasps out. "You'd rather have me dead. You want to say that you tried to stop me but couldn't, and mourn my memory in all its former perfection. You want to forget all this, and recall me as I was, not live with me as I am."

"That's not true," she whispers brokenly, but her face holds the truth.

I can't turn away, somehow. I know I should do something, say something, even just walk away, but my body won't obey. He's right. She doesn't want him anymore, not like this.

"Please, Edward," she tries again, "I love you." But her voice cracks on the last words.

He laughs harshly, and the sound is not pleasant. "No, you don't. You _loved_ me, Bella, loved what I was. But I'm not like that anymore, and now you can't stand the sight of me." He leans over further, his teeth grazing his own chest.

"No!" Bella cries out, but makes no movement toward him. "Edward, don't!"

A thin silvery line appears against his skin as he draws his teeth upward along his collarbone. Air drags through my mouth, feeling unusually cold and thick. It's hard to breathe, hard to think, impossible to speak. _No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!_

He can't do this. He won't. He wouldn't.

But he can. He will. He would.

Because he's telling the truth. He's changed. He's different now and she doesn't love him the way she once did.

"Remember me happily," he whispers as he makes the final cut, and then his body collapses into the fire.

She's screaming inside, I can tell. But the terror on her face has been replaced with a sort of blank hopelessness, and she doesn't move at all, even when the thick tendrils of purplish smoke start to curl through the still air.

"I will."


	7. Emmett

Maybe Rosalie hit my head too hard against the floor the last time I borrowed her shoes without permission, because I'm positive I'm hallucinating. This can't be real.

People like him simply don't die. Yes, there's the whole "immortal" thing, but in general, _good_ people don't die. Or they shouldn't. Fate or whoever is messing around with our lives shouldn't be _this_ cruel. Take me instead. Take any of us; I'm sure they'd volunteer. We'd all gladly die in place of him. He's just too alive to ever die.

There's a strange role reversal going on in the living room: Rose sitting lifelessly on the sofa while Bella paces angrily around the room, wearing holes in the rug with her glower. My older sister is usually the angry one, while sweet-tempered Bella sits out her grief quietly. Suddenly, with his death, our world has been turned upside down.

Bella's mumbling things under her breath, quiet, fury-filled little words and phrases, shattered to incoherence by anguish. I catch muttered snippets like "unfair" and "too young" but my brain seems to have gone too limp to work out the entire picture, or maybe there isn't one.

Esme and Carlisle have actually left the room, left our broken family without their seemingly never-ending patience and support-- further proof that this is all an impossibility. Or maybe we really have lost him, and it's driving everyone slowly to insanity.

I blink once before my gaze settles on Rosalie, who stares hollowly back, her irises charcoal with thirst and her limbs slack with horror. She seems to have emptied, pushed all the feelings out of her so she doesn't have to bother with experiencing them and the pain they'll bring. I'm reminded of the images of Bella that Edward described in agonized whispers, images from after he left taken from Jacob's then-taunting mind. Just a shell. A shell wracked with endless pain, that is. But a shell nevertheless.

Comforting arms encircle my waist, and I blink gratefully up at Jasper. As Edward walks slowly to embrace Bella similarly, something in Rosalie's eyes flickers and dies.

She'll be without his arms forever.

* * *

**All right. I am totally prepared for the onslaught of criticism and "WHY THE CARLISLE HAVEN'T YOU UPDATED IN MONTHS??" that will surely follow this. If you even bother to read it, that is. But I'm determined to finish up this story and _Stay With Me_ (improved title suggestions, anyone?) relatively soon so I can write random little oneshots without feeling guilty.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't want to.  
**


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